


Greatness Thrust Upon Him

by FirstDraft



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Angst, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-03-08 14:09:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13459884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FirstDraft/pseuds/FirstDraft
Summary: Gabriel Lorca is tasked with mentoring the Emperor's adopted child, Michael - but she ends up teaching him a lot more than he teaches her.





	1. First Contact

Greatness Thrust Upon Him

 

I.

First Contact

Gabriel Lorca has not fought, killed, backstabbed and plotted his way to the Emperor’s side to become some kind of nanny. He feels punished, even though he knows others look upon him with envy – being entrusted with the Emperor’s child, surely, had to be a sign of her confidence in him? 

Except that this child (who calls their daughter Michael?) is not really the Emperor’s child. She’s adopted, a propaganda tool. She may as well be a pet. And he knows the Emperor gets bored easily. What happens when she gets bored of this girl? Would he be expected to get rid of her? 

She’d been found in a rebel camp, alongside some other human prisoners. No one seemed to know how she had ended up there. She hadn’t spoken much to anyone. Apparently, she had been found shot, nearly dead, clutching a phaser and muttering “Long Live The Empire.” 

The Emperor was moved. Michael became a poster child for loyalty to the throne, and her reward was to go from orphan to heir presumptive. Lorca gritted his teeth. If this was a fairy tale, it had to be about some kind of poisoned chalice.

The doors open before him, and he walks down the short tunnel to the stands of the Palace’s training arena. The sound of fists and elbows and feet smacking against leather echo around his ears. Grunts and shouts – a child’s cry, suddenly. As he steps out into the light, he finds the Emperor in training gear, standing over a dark-skinned child who’s curled up on the floor, hands to her face.

“Look at me,” the Emperor demands. When the girl doesn’t immediately obey, she asks again, this time in a tone that won’t tolerate further delay. Michael sits up, looks at her; Lorca sees tears and blood on her face. “There is no shame in crying, Michael. You are a little girl. Being punched hurts. And if you don’t want to hurt again, you need to learn to hurt the other person. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Yes... Mother.”

“Mother.”

“You’re a survivor, Michael. I can see that. And that’s the greatest strength there is. Muscles, speed, knives – are nothing without it.”

“They do help, Your Majesty.”

Georgiou looks at him, smiles. “Gabriel! At last. Come, meet Michael.”

Lorca moves forward, bows to Georgiou then to Michael. The Emperor is pleased; the girl looks confused for a moment, before straightening herself and doing her best to copy her new mother’s haughty demeanour. The red eyes and blood and snot on her face do not help.

“Your Highness, it’s an honour to meet you.”

The Emperor waves a hand. “You will call her Michael. She is my daughter but she has not earned that title yet. Everything has to be earned. Only the strong succeed. That is what makes us the most powerful people in this quadrant.”

“What shall I call him, Mother?” Michael asks.

“Whatever he likes. _He_ has earned that.”

“Captain Lorca will do fine, Michael.”

“It is an honour to meet you, Captain Lorca,” the girl says, offering her hand. Now Lorca begins to see what the Emperor sees in her, a raw, unthinking kind of bravery. The kind of bravery that’s born either out of inexperience, or with the child. Time will tell which is which.


	2. Use or Be Used

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some references to sexual activity here. Mild language.

II. Use or Be Used

She likes it in the dark. Some feminine vanity that won’t allow her to show her battle scars? More likely, Lorca thinks, she doesn’t want the vulnerability, the intimacy, that comes with nakedness. She sits astride him but although she will let him hold her hips or her ass, or sometimes attend to her breasts, she remains in complete control of everything that they’re doing. In the early days, Lorca couldn’t believe his luck when the Emperor invited her to her bed: she was (and still is) a beautiful, powerful woman, and a woman who hungers for you is the best aphrodisiac. Over time, of course, Lorca realised she wasn’t hungry for him, as such, although obviously she found him attractive. She wanted sex and she wanted to show him that she hungered, full stop. That hers was an unstoppable, unrelenting appetite. Everyone and everything was prey. She would never slack or tire. 

Now he doesn’t mind the darkness, even if watching pleasure etch itself across a woman’s body is more than half the fun for him, because he can think more easily of other things, of other women, so he can be what Georgiou needs him to be in that moment. It’s not different from the nights when he’s on his own with his imagination, except more satisfying because someone else doing the work is always more satisfying than doing it yourself.

Georgiou finishes and he manages to follow quickly. She clicks her fingers and a little more light settles over them, the dusky kind that makes everything look dull and grey. She stares at him for a moment, her long hair falling to his chest, her eyes very much like a tiger’s in the night. Then she is off him and reaching for her dressing gown, and he gets into his clothes as quickly as he can.

“How is Michael getting on?” she asks as he puts his boots on.

It has been six months, more or less, since Lorca has begun to spend time with the girl. He tends to leave the physical training to others, and instead he has been teaching her chess, some basic piloting and battle strategies. To his surprise, he enjoys the lessons. Michael is a diligent, hard-working child; she’s clever, too.

“Very well. She likes to please. Teaching her is easy.”

“Yes. Yes, I have found that to be so, as well. But just because she’s easy to teach, does not mean she learns easily.” Lorca frowns, unsure of what she means. “Can you imagine the chaos if I went tomorrow, Gabriel? There are many people who long to take my place. I doubt any of them could.” 

“I agree,” he replies, and he really does. Whenever the Emperor has been replaced violently, all the jostling’s for power, all the petty grievances and grudges, that normally get resolved one knife in the back at a time explode to the surface as factions seek to re-imagine the Empire in their image. It never gets better, only worse.

Emperor Georgiou has presided over one of the most stable time in the Empire’s history. And there are none other like her. That’s worth something more than anyone’s ambition, and why she has his loyalty.

“Do you know why I adopted Michael?” she asks.

Not because you longed to be a mother, he thinks. Which leaves... “You wanted an heir, a successor. Didn’t want to leave it to chance.”

“Exactly right. But if that was the only reason, I could have picked – say, you. If it wasn’t for the fact you are not interested.” She gives him a slight, bemused smile. He knows she doesn’t understand him fully and that’s why she only trusts him ninety-five per cent of the time. Still, it is a lot more than she trusts anyone else. “There is no greater loyalty than that of a child for its parent. Children are clay to be moulded, iron to be forged. I need someone who believes, as I do.” Lorca nods. “I know you had your doubts about what I’m asking you to do. But do you understand now the responsibility on your shoulders?”

He does. He doesn’t like it one bit, because of the scrutiny that comes with it. “It’s an honour, Your Majesty.”

“You’re a smart man, Gabriel. More than that, you are wise. One of the many reasons I trust you as I do.”

Lorca bows and leaves. He has just passed Michael’s quarters when he hears a sharp cry from inside.

“What are you waiting for?” he snaps to the guards as he spins around only to find them not moving. 

“Miss Burnham is just having a nightmare. We checked - ” the guard points to the surveillance monitor.

Lorca takes a deep breath. “Let me in.”

“Sir –“

“You are aware, no doubt, that I am tasked with this girl’s welfare. And you must also realise that I have just left the Emperor, and I am quite happy to return to her if I need to?” The guards look at each other, frozen. When he pulls the knife from his belt, one of them finally complies, quickly entering the code on the door pad.

Unlike Georgiou’s bed chamber, the lights are on. It’s odd to think a child lives here: her quarters are comfortably fitted but have that impersonal aura of a hotel room. Lorca goes to her bedroom and finds Michael almost buried her sheets. He wonders if she’s asleep, until the tell-tale shaking of shoulders. Lorca doesn’t want to be here and isn’t sure why he is. Nevertheless he sits on the edge of the bed and gently uncovers her face. She’s crying, eyes screwed shut.

“Hey,” he says. “Playing possum is fine, Michael, but by now I could have killed you several times over.” She says something but the words get lost in cotton. “Hey, look at me, Princess. I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

It takes a few moments but finally Michael moves, sitting up and wiping her face on her pyjama sleeves. “I knew it was you.”

“How?”

“I heard you outside.” Ah yes. No access to the codes for the privacy shields. 

“Want me to check for Klingons under the bed?” 

Michael gives him an angry look. “I know I’m crying but I’m not a baby.”

“There’s no shame in crying. Your mother herself said so.”

“She was talking about getting punched in the face. Not crying because you’re scared or sad.” 

Ah crap. “There’s no shame in being scared or sad, either. But you need to keep it to yourself, that’s all. Not let it get in the way.”

“You sound like a Vulcan.”

He raises an eyebrow at that. He’s been called many things but never that. “You should never let emotions guide you. But you need them to drive you. Fear is what keeps us alive, Michael.” 

“What about love?”

Lorca lets out a laugh, then realises she is quite serious. Of course she would be, she’s eleven years-old. That’s too young for sarcasm. “Love of things and ideas, yes. Love for people... People don’t last, Michael.”

She looks at him, growing still, and then past him, to the sparkling darkness outside the Palace. She seems suddenly older than her years and he worries that the Emperor has chosen too well.

“Would you read something to me?”

“Sure. What have you got?” Michael hands him her PADD then settles down under the sheet. It’s a history book, which doesn’t seem conducive to happy dreams to him. But he suspects it will work just fine to get her back to sleep.

It works too well, because at some point he falls asleep, too. He startles himself awake in the chair he was using and it takes him a moment to get his bearings. He checks the time; he’s not been gone too long. Soft snoring draws his attention to the bed. Michael is asleep, and in her slumber has crept to the edge of her mattress and somehow draped an arm around Lorca’s leg, her face resting against his thigh.

The poor girl is desperate for affection, he thinks. Georgiou has chosen well in that regard, too. He understands now the greater opportunity, to ensure his survival beyond the Emperor if he makes it that long. 

_There is no greater loyalty than that of a child for its parent. Children are clay to be moulded, iron to be forged._

Lorca carefully extracts himself from Michael’s embrace. A little shiver runs up his leg at the sudden loss of warmth. He doesn’t remember the last time someone touched him in a way that not sexual or murderous.

He thinks that maybe he should get a cat.


	3. Trust Exercise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this as quick as can, before the next episode comes along. Apologies for all typos and generally non-sensical syntax in places, probably. I thought I could whip out a series of super short vignettes, just glimpses of the Lorca/Burnham relationship in the Mirror Universe but it's too rich a seam and I am struggling to get it all in, in such a short time. Pray for me!

III. Trust Exercise

“So are you going to introduce me to Her Exalted Highnessess?”

Lorca winces. There is a noisy crowd of dignitaries and parents all around them and Kat was whispering in his ear, but even so, there are things you do not say aloud anywhere but behind privacy shields, especially when the subject of the conversation is standing only a few meters away. 

“Jesus, Kat, how much champagne have you managed to get your hands on? We’ve been here barely ten minutes.” 

“No. Just enough to risk a session in the agonisers for disrespecting the throne. I’ll need a lot more if you were planning on taking me to bed tonight.”

“Wow, thanks – torture over sex with me. I don’t remember you complaining before.”

Kat squeezes his hand. “And I had no reason to, Gabriel – you know that, you... Peacock.”

He sighs. “First Vulcan, now peacock. Whatever next.”

“How can you fake it so bad someone would call you a damn Vulcan?”

“Very funny. Michael did, actually.”

“Sassy, is she?”

“Not remotely. Which is probably for the best.” 

She’s the most serious thirteen year-old he’s ever met, even now and no longer the skinny, probably traumatised war child. In fact, standing there next to her mother, you would swear they were biologically related: still slim and lithe, she is tall and all coiled power. As her opponents found out that afternoon, at the annual Imperial Academy showcase.

Kat nods. “Poor kid.”

As he often does when he meets with his oldest friend, Lorca wonders why he never married Katrina Cornwell. Early on in their time at the Imperial Academy, they knew that they saw eye to eye. They wanted to succeed not for the sake of power but for survival, to be free. That gave them strategy, while the others only had tactics. And because neither of them wanted to win as such, she was the one person he trusted above all else.

Which is why her turning him down these days had him a little worried. Kat had said she was now in a relationship with someone, but would not say who. She was in line to be promoted to a Rear Admiral’s position, too. Was she having an affair with a high-ranking official and unwilling to risk losing it by being caught with Lorca? Was she in love? Why would she even want to be an admiral?

“I meant, of course,” Kat adds as she puts her now empty flute down on a passing tray, “having you for a dad.” 

“I am not her dad –“

“I’m pretty sure you gave her the thumbs up at the end of her last fight. Somehow I don’t imagine you doing that to one of your crew members. Anyway - would it be such a terrible thing?” She looks oddly wistful now.

“It would be very complicated. You know that, which is why you’re not a mother, either.” 

“Complicated. Yes. Speaking of which - ” she tilts her head, towards Michael, who is now approaching them.

They salute each other. “Michael, may I introduce Captain Katrina Cornwell?”

“Captain Cornwell, it is an honour. Captain Lorca has spoken of you many times.”

“The honour is all mine, Your Highness.”

“I’m just Michael,” she corrects the older woman. “Captain Lorca calls me Princess sometimes, but I think he’s being sarcastic.”

Lorca nearly spits out his drink. He’d never meant it sarcastically, only to tease her, and he didn’t think she had noticed. He drops to one knee, bows deeply. “I beg your forgiveness, Your Highness.”

Michael looks embarrassed at the display, which has drawn a lot of attention, and gestures him to stand. “I think that was sarcastic, too, Captain.”

“Gabriel always thinks he is the funniest man in the room, Michael. You need to give as good as you get. He’ll fall in line soon enough.”

An aide clears his throat behind Lorca. “Miss Burnham, the Emperor requires your presence by her side.”

The girl looks disappointed. She salutes Lorca and Kat and follows the young woman.

He turns to Kat, struggling to hide his frustration. “What were you thinking, Kat, talking to her like that?”

“What do you mean?” she replies, taken aback.

“Michael is the Emperor’s heir. I’m allowed to treat her with some familiarity, but only because she needs to know I am her superior when it comes to teaching her. If someone else heard you - ”

Kat raises a placating hand. “All right. I get it. But you’re the one who embarrassed her, not me. I think that definitely makes you her dad now.”

“Nice try, but that won’t change anything.” Lorca scans his friend’s face, her body, looking for a clue. “Something is up with you, Kat.”

She sighs. “Nothing is up with me. But thank you for worrying. It’s good to know someone does. I’m glad we’re friends, Gabriel. So glad.”

 

**

“He who does not trust enough, will not be trusted.” 

She and Lorca are sitting under a parasol on a Hawaiian beach, taking advantage of what passes as shore leave for the both of them on a brief return to Earth. Well, Michael is sitting – he is lying down on a towel, eyes shut, enjoying the sound of the waves lapping at the shore. She’s been reading Sun Tzu’s The Art of War. He’s pretty sure she’s frowning.

“How do you do that? Trust someone?”

“Mostly, you give them something to lose or to gain. The more equal the exchange, the more trust there will be.”

“So what do you have to give me that means I can trust you?”

“Maybe you have something to lose.”

“I think I’d survive the loss of the old man battle stories.”

Lorca laughs, then realises Michael made a joke. He props himself up on his elbows to look at her. “Have you been talking to Captain Cornwell behind my back?”

She shrugs, looking pleased with herself, and he decides it’s a look that suits her. “Are you and her... together?”

He’s surprised by the question, because she hasn’t really asked him personal questions since the night he found her crying. He’s not sure how to answer, mostly because he doesn’t the appropriate one for the thirteen year-old future leader to the Terran Empire. Michael’s smart, though, so he decides to go for the truth. There is never any point in lying when there’s nothing concrete to be gained from it. “We used to be, from time to time. We’re mostly old friends. Why do you ask?”

“You seemed... relaxed together. She teased you and you didn’t seem to mind. Would you say she’s someone you trust?”

“Absolutely. And if you trust me, you can trust her, too.”

She nods her thanks. “So... what did you give her, or take from her, that means you can trust her?”

Lorca sits up properly now. “Ah. Well, that’s because there is another reason to trust someone: a common goal. That’s what Kat and I have.”  
“What’s your goal?”

“To be free. And the survival of the Empire.”

“What do you mean, to be free? What about your duty to the Empire?”

He could kick himself now. He walked right into that one. “You have to obey a lot of people, haven’t you, Michael? The Emperor, your teachers and instructors, even old man me. I just want to have as few people to obey as I can. One day, all being well, you will have no one to answer to.”

“Except for our people. I mean – that’s the reason for everything, isn’t it?” She doesn’t let him answer, cuts him off as he opens his mouth. “I think I know why I can trust you – with my life anyway.” Lorca raises a questioning eyebrow. “My mother.”

She returns to her PADD, he returns to his rest. He’s glad he picked the truth earlier. It’s not going to be easy to lie to her. He’s glad, too, that she’s wise enough to know not to share too much with him. Because ultimately his loyalty has to be to the Emperor, not Michael. 

But for the first time in a long time, Michael feels like a stranger to him. And he doesn’t like it.


	4. Spare The Rod

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long-ish one. Gets a bit dark and sweary. Some violence, nothing too graphic. You may need a glass of milk, because I lay it on thick.

IV. Spare The Rod

They have barely made it back to a starbase when the Emperor commands Lorca to report to the Charon. He travels alone as usual, to the relief of his exhausted crew, and he’s only too happy to give them the rest they need. They have been gone six months, hunting a rebel cell from system to system, elusive as the proverbial white whale and, just like it, taking him to the brink of rage from sheer frustration. No doubt this is why Bianco thought it would be a good time to go after him: he was tired and failing in his mission, which would have made it difficult for the Emperor to disapprove of his being disposed of. It was a bold move for a science officer who wasn’t even his second in command and Lorca wishes he could have done anything but kill her. It seems a waste of an otherwise excellent officer, not to mention a fine sexual partner.

She’d got in a few good hits before Lorca had overpowered her, and his ribs, along with his face, still felt sore. He’d refused to go to sickbay as a necessary show of strength, but applying the medical scans to yourself was not easy and he had somehow run out of his own supply of pain killers. At least the trip to the Charon would give him a chance to see a doctor there, who wouldn’t know how he’d got hurt and would not care to ask.

Having boarded, he is sent directly to the Emperor’s study. There he finds her looking both angry and frustrated, a woman in a technical officer’s uniform looking terrified in one corner and Michael in the middle of the room, standing still as a statue and looking... defiant. She glances at him, for the briefest of moments, as he bows to Georgiou and he’s shocked by how much she’s grown. She is nearly fifteen years-old now: still a girl, but definitely no longer a child.

"Captain Lorca, we need to discuss your reading list.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?”

“Michael was caught today breaking into the Private Imperial Archives by Lieutenant Taylor here.”

It is almost shocking how bright Michael is. She excells in all subjects but science and technology are two particular favourites. She was studying encryption and firewalls when he left. Her studies have obviously borne fruit. It would have been an incredible achievement for anyone to manage such a feat, but for a teenage girl?

“I was not breaking into the archives, Mother, I was testing the security –“

Georgiou spins around and as fast as she moves, a blade comes flying out of her hands, skimming past Michael’s cheek and embedding itself in a painting on the far wall of the study. Lorca manages to strangle the cry that wants to come out of his mouth, but Taylor does not.

"QUIET.” He watches the clenching of Michael’s jaw, the slight tremor in her hand, her eyes begin to shimmer. “You know, Michael, that such crimes are punishable by death.”

"How can it be a crime? Am I not your daughter?”

"My orders, my edicts, apply to all, including my daughter. They must.”

"I was trying to impress you, Mother -"

"Yes, you explained that. Because of something you read in a book that Captain Lorca gave you.”

He freezes. That explains the reading list comment. Works of fiction are generally not encouraged, except as propaganda and homilies. He had been careful to only share meaningful stories – old ones, to give her a sense of her place in time and history – and if one encouraged rebellion, it would also have featured punishment.

"Michael?”

"Answer him,” the Emperor barks when Michael doesn’t reply.

"Prometheus,” she answers quickly.

Lorca had given her a selection of stories from ancient Greek and Roman mythologies - because they all depicted fearsome Gods you should not try to double-cross.

"What happens to Prometheus, Michael?” he snaps, desperate for Georgiou to see his intent.

"He is chained to a rock, and every day an eagle comes to eat his liver. For all eternity.”

"Did you also not get as far as the story of Icarus?” She doesn’t respond. “He flies too close to the sun and it melts the wax holding his wings together. He falls to his death.”

Georgiou steps up to Michael, studies her for a moment. When she raises her hands to her daughter’s face, Michael flinches. No strike comes, simply the tender touch of a mother holding her daughter’s face.

"What is the trait I despise above all else, Michael?”

"Cowardice.”

"What is the trait I admire above all else?”

"Courage.”

"You are one of the most courageous people I know, Michael. I am already impressed. Already proud. But courage also means accepting responsibily and dealing with the consequences of your actions.”

Lorca stops breathing. He cannot believe that Georgiou would kill Michael over this. The offense has not been committed publicly, after all. No one has to know. He weighs his options, wonders what would happen if he spoke now, and what he could possibly say. Blood thunders in his ears, making it hard to hear his own thoughts.

"If someone caught you breaking into their house, what would you do, Michael?”

"Kill them.” She answers quickly this time, probably desperate to obey her mother into survival. Then she realises what she’s just said, just as Lieutenant Taylor begins to cry and stammer promises of silence and fealty.

"You’ve made a mess, “ Georgious says softly, her hands going to Michael’s and leaving a knife in it. “Now you have to clean it up.”

Michael opens her mouth but nothing comes out. She looks at Lorca, pleading for something, suddenly looking like a little girl again.

"But Lieutenant Taylor only did her duty, and should be rewarded for it – “ she tries.

The Emperor’s nostrils flare with barely-contained fury. “It’s Taylor or you, Michael,” Lorca barks quickly. He grabs her arm and pulls her to face Taylor, who’s crying less now but has crumpled to the floor. He leaves Michael, pulls Taylor up to her feet.

"You have family?” he whispers in her ear as she struggles against him. Taylor can’t speak, but struggles even more. “They will be looked after, I SWEAR IT,” he whispers on. “They will be safe, and they will not starve. No one will know. But you have to stand up. You have to do this. Do you understand me?” Taylor looks at him and now there is a gleam of courage in her eyes.

Lorca returns to Michael, whispers to her now. “This was always going to happen, Michael. Sooner or later, there would have been someone standing in your way. Remember what you've learned.” 

He stands in front of her so Taylor cannot see, carefully pulls her forward closer to him and Taylor. He presses two fingers to Michael’s chest, just under her sternum. “Instant kill. The best thing you can do for her now is to do it quick, so she doesn’t see it coming.” She is staring at his chest, but he knows she’s listened by the way she swallows.

He mouthes a countdown, steps aside quickly. Michael lunges forward with a shout, driving Taylor back with one hand on her throat; the officer instinctively grabs her wrist, leaving her chest open. Her back smacks against the wall; before the air has left her lungs, she lets out a gurgled cry. 

The knife is so sharp that it stays in Michael’s hand as Taylor falls to the ground again. Blood pools around her but looks like carelessly spilled water on the dark red carpet under their feet. Michael drops to her knees and vomits. Lorca takes a breath of relief. 

Eventually Michael stumbles to her feet and recovers some kind of composure. She wipes the blade on her trouser leg then offers it back to the Emperor, bowing deeply.

"Thank you, Michael. Captain Lorca, please escort her to an Agony booth. Five minutes should do it. No one else need see it."

"Your Majesty, surely – “

Georgiou slaps him, making Michael jump. "You do not have the excuse of being a child, Captain. Cleaning up the mess is not punishment. How could it be?" 

He bows to her, then indicates that Michael should follow him.

"When you're done, Captain, return to me. We have much to discuss."

**

Michael begins to stumble as they head down towards the turbolift. She's pale, shaking. He doubts it's about the agonisers because until you've been in them you cannot possibly imagine how bad they are. He puts an arm around her back, lifts her up so she can hold on to him. He has to breathe to ease the pain from his ribs.

They don't speak. At the agoniser room, he sends away the guards and the operator. Michael shakes off his help and steps into the booth herself.

_That's my girl._

He puts it on the lowest setting. Even so, it's the longest five minutes of his life, because he makes himself look at her. Face the consequences.

Afterwards Lorca waits for her to stop retching before taking her in his arms and carrying her back to her quarters. He has to change her vomit-splattered top, then takes off her shoes and socks. He tucks her under her sheets and gets some hot, sweet tea from the replicator. It's not easy to get her to drink it, as she's lying down and shaking with shock. But what Michael manages to swallow works its magic because she begins to talk.

"It's not fair. It wasn't her fault."

"It doesn't matter."

"How can you say that?"

"The only thing that matters is the Empire."

"You mean the Emperor."

"They are one and the same," he snaps. "How can you be so smart and yet so fucking stupid, Michael? You've studied enough history- reality - not the fairy tales of people who'd barely invented the wheel! Before the Empire there was chaos and darkness. And every time someone's thought they could do a better job than the Emperor, death followed. Countless deaths. Thousands of Taylors. Oh yeah, you're smart, Michael. But you've got a lot to learn yet."

"Just because... things are as they are, doesn't meant that's how they should be."

Lorca slams the cup of tea on her bedside table and stands up. "Stop, Michael. STOP. I don't want to hear it."

"Don't you want to know... what's so terrifying to the Emperor that... almost no one is allowed to know about it?" Of course he's curious. But if it's that dangerous, he doesn't want to know, either. "Do you want... to know something funny?"

"Yeah, right now, pretty badly."

"One of the books of stories. From the Bible. There were two... called archangels... and they are God's right and left hands. One of them... leads God's armies and he's called Michael. The other... carries out his will, takes his messages to the human race, and he's called Gabriel."

"There is no God."

"No. But there is... the Emperor..." She's fading, either falling asleep or passing out. "It's like you said... Captain Lorca. People... don't last. Ideas do." Her eyes flutter shut. "A... Apple."

Nuts seems more appropriate.

**

"What game are you playing, Gabriel?"

"No game, Your Majesty. I have not been here, as you know. And if I may remind you, I am not her only teacher."

Georgiou sits at her desk, staring at Taylor's corpse. He wonders why she's not called for its disposal.

"This is not the first time she is testing my will. She seems to believe she has a right to my throne already." She scoffs. "We've received intelligence that the Cardassians have been arming the Bajorans. That part of the quadrant may be far from Earth but if we lose one system, it will grant the Rebels more space to regroup and organise. I want you to take Michael with you."

"With me? Your Majesty, if I take her into battle, I cannot guarantee her safety -"

"She needs to learn that everything costs and that the currency is pain. And this time you _will_ be her only teacher. Georgiou seems finished so he salutes her and moves to go. "One more thing, Captain." She tilts her head towards Taylor. "You need to clean up your mess, too."

There's the reason, he thinks. He nods, picks up the body and flings it over his shoulders.

**

Disposing of Taylor doesn't take that long, and he's actually glad to do it because it means he can ensure the body is kept for her relatives to bury as they see fit. But it takes long enough that he is nearing agony when he gets to the medical bay. There is a bit of fussing initially when his hobbling leads them to believe the blood on his uniform is his, and then silence and swift treatment follow his assurance that it belongs to someone else.

In his quarters at last, Lorca has never felt happier about being on his own. He sheds and throws away his dirty clothes, steps in the shower. It's only late afternoon here but he's exhausted. He's about to lie down in his bed when a flashing PADD on his desk attracts his attention.

With a sigh he stands and fetches it. His first attempt at inputting his password doesn't work, so he tries again. When that doesn't work he tries a thumb print. It doesn't work, either. Then he realises it's not his PADD, because his is still in his bag.

He sits at his desk, and that's when he notices the apple there. Lorca frowns, then -

"Ah, for fuck's sake, Michael."

He quickly types in "apple." The PADD unlocks and a box appears on the screen.

_This file is encrypted. Decrypt now? ___


	5. Field Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a long time to update. I found the ending of the series somewhat deflating, needless to say.

  1. **Field Trip**



Lorca never looks at the files. Instead, he downloads them onto a memory chip small enough to fit inside his badge and destroys the PADD. The following day he has to return to his ship and convinces the Emperor that Michael should only follow when she is completely recovered (even a short time in an agony booth can leave you heaving and shaking for up to a few days), because it would hardly inspire respect for her if she arrived aboard stumbling around like a drunkard. 

When she joins him on-board the Buran, he looks for signs of weakness or discomfort, but she stands as tall as ever in his ready-room, clearly recovered. Her hair is short and smooth now, making her look slightly older. Lorca briefs her on their mission and what is expected of her, but he can tell by the way she looks at him that she’s searching him, too.

He doesn’t conduct anything other than business in his ready-room, just in case. So instead he decides to walk her part of the way to the landing bay for her first tasks.

“I didn’t look at the files, Michael,” he tells her as they head down a slightly louder corridor. “And that’s the last time we’ll ever talk about them. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

He didn’t ask for this duty, to be responsible for this girl. Michael is fast approaching the age when she will be officially considered responsible for all her actions - when, if he was her father, he could wash his hands off her and all she does. But it doesn’t work like that, and Georgiou didn’t have to remind him. Anyway, the law is an ass. No matter what it might say, Michael is still just a kid. A brilliant mind, a tough spirit, but still just a kid.

She looks at him in the eye as he leaves her at a turbolift. Her gaze is blank, carefully respectful. Lorca has been asking himself almost incessantly why Michael sent him that PADD. Now suddenly he wonders whether it was some kind of test. If it was, he suspects he has failed.

**

“To the finest crew of this fine people!” Lorca shouts, brandishing his glass in the air. “Long live the Empire!”

“LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!”

Raucous cheers follow, almost instantly drowned out by loud, thumping music as his crew – or rather those not on duty – begin to dance, mingle and laugh around him. It has been a punishing week, taking the offensive to the ground and finally sending the Bajorans running from the small moon they’d thought would escape the ISS Buran’s attention. They had buried themselves deep underground and shielded themselves, so that bombardment from space was ineffective. Lorca has managed to lose fewer people than he feared, too, so to him this counts as an even more satisfying win. A burst of laughter, clear and sharp, catches his ear above the din somewhere to his right and he sees Michael putting an arm around Lieutenant Shen’s neck – for what purpose he has no idea, but the two other crewmen with them are laughing, too. In spite of Georgiou’s orders, Lorca hasn’t sent her along on the ground assault because she quite simply lacks the necessary infantry training, but he has sent her with the medical team once the land was confirmed theirs. From what the doc said, she performed brilliantly: cool under pressure, unfazed by fear – either hers or other people’s.

It might have surprised the older man but it does not surprise Lorca, just as it does not surprise him that she has already gained respect among a lot of the crew. It is not entirely uncommon for teenagers to sign up for service on an Imperial war ship because most people lack the position and influence to enter the Imperial Fleet Academy. If you could not sit the exams and tests, you could simply enlist and climb the ranks the slower way. Lorca had narrowly escaped that fate and had often thanked his stars because those who joined the Fleet that way faced bullying and exploitation that could easily destroy the strongest individuals. As the Emperor’s daughter, Michael was never going to face the same treatment, but she has a few years of martial arts training to deal with the couple of people who think she should. Broken arms and jaws later, no one else tries and she gets the chance to earn everyone else’s respect before she is crushed. He wonders, not for the first time, about the waste of people and potential.

An Ensign taps him on the shoulder, indicates the bridge is trying to contact him. Lorca exits the mess hall for the nearest comm station.

“Lorca to the bridge.”

“Captain, the Aries is here and Admiral Cornwell will be boarding in a few minutes.”

Katrina was here? He frowns. What fault could the Emperor be finding with him now? “Acknowledged. Please invite her to be transported directly to my ready room.”

He finds her and her bodyguard waiting for him when he gets there. She dismisses her escort and the doors have barely slipped shut when he speaks.

“What are you doing here, Kat? What’s going on?”

She sighs and raises her hands in a gesture of conciliation. “You know how it is. You have done very well here, you don’t have to worry about that, but the Emperor is concerned you might over-reach, lose the ground we’ve gained.”

Lorca grunts disdainfully. What the Emperor is concerned about is Lorca becoming too popular, too successful, and taking that popularity and success back home. Still, something bothers him. “Why send you, Admiral, to the furthest edge of our Empire? Aren’t you above being a messenger these days?”

“I offered to come. I thought you’d rather have me around - a friend -  than the alternative, which would most likely not be friendly.”

She is his only friend so it is in fact a certainty. Everyone else is at best a rival, at worst an enemy. He sighs. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry – and thanks. How long are you staying?”

“A few weeks. I can provide further tactical support, and the Emperor has asked me to look into the feasibility of either entering Cardassian space, or negotiating with them. Possibly both.”

“A show of force, something to let them know we don’t fuck around?”

“Like I said – you know how it is.” Katrina tilts her head, leans back against his table. “Are you ok? Paranoia’s not your style.”

He wonders how much to tell her (you always have to wonder) but he needs a different pair of eyes anyway. “I thought maybe you were sent to check up on Michael.”

“In what way?”

“I think Georgiou worries I’m turning Michael against her. Or giving her ideas above her station.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Her station’s pretty high as it is.”

“You’d think. But one time, not long after she’d adopted Michael, the Emperor said something I didn’t get at the time. She said that Michael was easy to teach, but it didn’t mean she learned as easily. Damn, do I get it now.”

“So what are you saying?”

“Honestly? I have no idea. Maybe she’s just being a teenage girl, and I couldn’t know less about that.”

“The arrogance of youth?”

“Let’s hope so.” Hope? Is that really what he was reduced to? He’s got nothing else when it comes to Michael; he can’t figure her out anymore and maybe he was a Kelpian in a previous life, because the back of his neck tingles with everything he doesn’t know about her. The unknown is the only thing that scares him.

That tingle’s right there again when his door chime rings off and he’s told Michael has come up to see him. She doesn’t look surprised at all to see Katrina there.

“Admiral Cornwell,” she salutes smartly. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Captain, but word got downstairs that the Admiral has boarded. I’m sure a few words of encouragement from her would be welcome by all.”

Lorca senses rather than sees Katrina’s eyes widen. “And since when are you this ship’s pastoral care officer?”

“Since no one else will dare.”

He grits his teeth, still in a bad mood about Katrina’s arrival and what it means, and is about to dismiss her when Katrina speaks up. “That’s a fine idea. Lead the way, Cadet Burnham.”

“How exactly did word get downstairs about Admiral Cornwell’s arrival?” he asks Michael on the way to the turbolift.

“Jeffries tubes, I think. A lot of noise gets carried down those.”

Lorca has to keep himself from smirking. “Ship’s comedian as well now. Have you been drinking, Michael?”

“No, sir. For that would be against the rules.”

He rolls his eyes. Her cheeks are slightly flushed, her gaze fractionally cloudy. She’s been drinking, because as informal as their relationship may be, she wouldn’t have dared the quip in front of another officer otherwise.

There is a lot less dancing and a lot more talking when they reach the mess hall, and the body language is tense when the music gets turned off and the Admiral’s presence is acknowledged. They must be fearing something similar to Lorca, because ship’s crews have been known to bear collective punishment for any failure on the part of their captain.

Cornwell climbs up on a table, delivers a short speech relaying the Emperor’s congratulations on a job well done – orders her own crew to beam straight to the mess hall a few kegs of real, fresh beer. There is a roar of approval, the music comes back on and the party resumes. Whatever Michael has or has not been imbibing, Lorca has to admit her idea (he has no doubt it was her idea alone) was a good one.

Lorca fetches two glasses of Katrina’s beer when it arrives, and he and Katrina stick around until both have finished their drinks. On their way out, Michael runs up to them again.

“Captain, may I request a moment with Admiral Cornwell?”

She was a lucky girl, being the Emperor’s daughter. If she had been a regular cadet, a strict captain might have sent her to an agony booth as an answer to such an audacious request.

“That’s up to Admiral Cornwell.”

Katrina doesn’t look pleased about that, and Lorca doesn’t understand why. “Of course, Cadet.”

“I have to check on the bridge. You can have my quarters, I will meet you there afterwards.” He quickly unlocks his door from a computer panel and signals to his guard to escort Katrina and Michael there.

Given Katrina’s displeasure, Lorca feels the need to hurry and rescue her from whatever Michael is up to as quickly as possible. He manages to be quick enough to be surprised that Michael's gone when he reaches his quarters.

Katrina is sitting on his couch, tumbler of scotch in hand, looking thoughtful. “Cadet Burnham wishes to transfer to my ship for a while.”

That damn tingle returns. And something else, too. Something that feels like failure again. He grabs a tumbler, pours his own drink and drinks it in one gulp.

“Did she say why?”

She notices the trace of anger in his voice. “She wants the patronage of a higher ranking officer. That’s not unusual.”

“The only reason she got five minutes of your time today is because she’s the Emperor’s daughter. What other patronage do you need?”

“The Emperor needs Michael to make her way up by herself as much as possible. It’s political common sense and the best way to ensure there is enough respect for that girl to allow her a chance at the reins of the Empire when the time comes. But it would be pointless to be the Emperor if the position granted you no privilege.” Katrina stands up and joins Lorca by the scotch bottle, although she doesn’t get herself any more. “To be frank, I could do with Michael’s patronage myself. I’ve managed to piss off a couple of people already on the Council and now I’ve got their lackeys yelping at my heels. I could do with some breathing space so I can work on the rest of our wondrous leaders.”

“And if you can’t bring them over to your side?”

“I’ll unsheathe that sword when I come to that. You know me – better the devil you know.”

Lorca nods. She’d climbed the ranks even faster than him, thanks to an ability to deal with people around her as though they were chess pieces. Sacrificing some you may not expect, moving those you may not.

“Look, it’s fine by me. But I don’t know how Georgiou is going to feel about it.”

“Let’s give it a week, low key transfer. I don’t think she’ll hear it from Michael, or that anyone will question it.”

“Fine. You’re gonna owe me for that one, Kat.”

He’s thinking another favour of some kind down the line, but he parks that thought for later when Katrina steps closer to him and slips a finger under his breast plate, sliding it towards the hooks that keep it in place.

“I can start by saying thank you. How would that be, Gabriel?”

Lorca steadies her hand with his own. “Unnecessary.”

She looks a little sad and worn-out, then. “I know. Just needed the excuse, I guess.”

“That’s unnecessary, too.”

“I’ve still got it, huh?”

He doesn’t answer, simply leans forward and kisses her. There’s no point asking her why now, after so long; he can sense she’s holding something back from him but then he isn’t prepared to tell her everything, either. Her hand returns to her previous task, until they both decide it’s much faster if they remove their own clothes, or rather as much of their clothes as required.

Being with Katrina has always been fun and easy but today it’s mostly quick and loud, the kind of sex he imagines long-married couple can have, because they know their lover’s body and all the shortcuts, and the intimacy feels comfortable.

As she comes down from her climax, she suddenly laughs, making Lorca look up from where he was tending to her.

“I just had this terrifying thought,” she explains, “that Michael was going to make it a hat trick and turn up before we were done.”

He chuckles, but thoughts of Michael are not welcome. Maybe spending time with Katrina is just what the girl needs. He said so himself, he knows nothing about teenage girls. He doesn’t want to learn, either.


	6. Tactical Maneuvers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some depiction of battle injuries but nothing too graphic in this one, and use of the F-word.
> 
> Many thanks to my beta vladnyrki - any typo or horrific character assasination remaining are my sole responsibility!

VI. Tactical Maneuvers

Two weeks. Two weeks before they discover that the Cardassians don’t fuck around, either. Two weeks is all it takes before the whole of the Empire finds out that Michael has been aboard the Aries, when she single-handedly ends a battle that’s going very badly and saves the Buran and all who sail in her.

As planned, Lorca and Katrina spend time making overtures to the Cardassians, trying to start preliminary talks to define a border between the Cardassian and Terran Empires. He thinks it’s too early for this – they don’t know nearly enough about the Cardassians and what makes them tick; no one does. Katrina thinks that this culture of secrecy means they probably view all outsiders as a threat, which is something both empires have in common. Lorca agrees, and then it turns out that the Cardassians like a decisive show of force as well. Do they care that much about Bajor, or is it just an excuse to make a point? Either way, talks begin to break down as Katrina expresses interest in Bajor as an outpost for the Empire, the Cardassians claiming the planet falls within their sphere of influence and lies too close to Cardassian borders to be left to anyone else. Katrina points out the lack of defined borders in that area of space, and so the Cardassians decide to draw them more definitely. Their ultimatum requires all Terran vessels, civilian and military, to leave Bajoran space within one Terran daily cycle. Neither Katrina nor Lorca need to seek authorisation from the Emperor to stay put.

Ten minutes after they have overstayed their welcome, the Cardassians fire on the Aries.  
Lorca is used to the way adrenaline warps any sense of time, but he’s pretty sure that’s not why he feels they are losing the battle shockingly fast. The Cardassians have brought three battleships and half a dozen small frigates, which more than makes up for the comparative lack of manoeuvrability of the battleships. Against those, only Lorca’s Buran and Katrina’s Aries (a heavy cruiser) are anywhere of a match – the rest of the Terran forces are made up of several patrol and transport ships, none of which are suited to a sustained engagement. The transport ships, with their superior shielding capabilities, have been trying to take as much fire from the frigates as possible but three have already been destroyed and the last two have been driven away from the Buran; the patrol ships are fast, nimble and fairly well-armed but in this battle Lorca compares their impact to the distraction of an angry bee. Still, it’s better than nothing, especially when nothing is likely to be what they could be left with very soon, and he can’t help thinking that the Cardassians must have gravely underestimated them if all they brought were three battleships when they could have easily called many more, being so much closer to their space than the Terrans are to theirs.

“INCOMING TORPEDO OFF THE –“

Lieutenant Jensen, manning the sensors and radar station, is drowned out by the torpedo hitting its target. The ship tilts, judders and howls under the impact. The communications station behind Lorca blows out and he is thrown forward by a great weight landing on his back. Breath knocked out of him, head ringing from hitting the hard floor, Lorca struggles to gather himself. Before he can wonder what pinned him down, the weight is lifted off him and he feels a different kind of pressure, that of hands pinning his arms and legs to the floor. 

“Hold still, Captain, I need to check you for back or spinal injuries.” That’s Manfredi, the bridge medic, and Lorca manages to comply, even as everything in his body is screaming out to fight. He can’t hear the tweaks and bleeps of the diagnostic tricorder over the noises of the battle but he is suddenly released and helped to his feet. Without asking for permission, Manfredi injects him with something that instantly dulls the stabbing pain on the side of his face and that’s enough for Lorca.

“You’ve broken your nose and cheekbone, Captain –“ Manfredi protests.

“You can make me handsome later if we survive this battle, Medic. STATUS REPORT NOW!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Manfredi dragging away what landed on him – not part of the bridge, but Lieutenant Kowalski, who was manning Communications. Shards of glass and metal have shredded her upper body, nearly severing her left arm at the shoulder; her face and head are smouldering. The smell of blood and burnt flesh is everywhere and retching and vomiting echo around the bridge. He has to bark for a status report again, because that station is only one along from Communications and its officer has been badly hurt by the explosion that killed Kowalski.

“Shields are at thirty per cent! Long-range communications and targeting systems are offline! Hull breach on levels 4 through to 7! Impulse engines are down.”

FUCK. “Engineering, this is the Bridge –“

“Working on it, Ca – you’ll have the – but there’s “ The static becomes a shriek and the line dies.

“Thrusters have just come back online, Captain!” his Helmsman suddenly shouts out.

Lorca breathes out – he would have happily kissed his engineer right now, and damned be the consequences. The man wasn’t the best technically that Lorca could have had but he was smart in all the right ways. Now that they had the thrusters back, they could move a little.

“Until we have the targeting system back online, we’re gonna do this the old-fashioned way. Evasive pattern delta 3 – firing all phasers so we know what they were left aiming at!”

“Aye, Captain!”

“Status on the Aries?”

“Turning about towards us, Captain. They have shaken off the battleships for now but are engaging with two Cardassian frigates.”

The last thing Lorca needs is to end up with more fire coming towards him but Katrina must realise the dire situation the Buran is in. He doubts she’ll make it to the corner of the battlefield in time.

At least Michael is safer on that ship.

He doesn’t know where the thought has come from, nor the grip of regret that their last conversation had been rather strained. He sits back on his chair, watches the bright arcs of deadly light striking out towards the Cardassian battleship. They are too close and their shields too weak to risk firing their photonic torpedoes, a weakness of those weapons that the Cardassians wasted no time in working out for themselves, taking the fight close to the Buran and Lorca’s only real advantage over them away from him.

“We’ve got the targeting angles calculated, Captain – sending to your station.”

Lorca stares at the numbers. They would have to try now, before any more structural damage to the hull made it impossible. “Status on the inertia dampers?”

“Fully functioning.”

“Okay. Let’s take this baby dancing. Helm, turn us over and get us under the belly of that fucking beast. Tactical, get ready to fire on my signal.”

His crew knows better than to question him, or express any doubt that they could do what is requested of them. Helm fires the thrusters at full force, spinning the battlefield on their screen upside down, slipping them towards the underside of the Cardassian battleship.

“The Cardassians are moving, sir –“

Lorca smirks: he’s made them blink without even trying. “Fire all phasers.”

They are much closer to the battleship now and the phaser rays hitting their enemies’ shield is like watching fireworks and they can see they’ve made a significant hit. There’s barely the time to take some satisfaction in the strike before Lorca realises that the flight or fight response isn’t a binary thing when you’ve got friends with you. Just as the battleship reels away from the Buran, a Cardassian frigate comes bearing down on them suddenly. Only their proximity to the battleship and the unpredictability of their movements saves them from something more powerful than phasers. But it’s enough to make Lorca’s stomach roil as the Buran is hit across its own underbelly and loses three thrusters, enough to leave them drifting almost out of control.

“Helm, keep us as close as you can to the battleship. Redirect shields to our starboard side, and keep ‘em on our exposed parts. I need to know what’s happening in Engineering, dammit!”

An Ensign volunteers to go down and find out and report back; the Bridge crew sets to work frantically on communications through the ship and with the Aries, as well as the targeting systems, but Lorca doubts he’s bought them enough time to give them either a fighting chance, or one to withdraw. If they can get their warp engines back online, they might be able to put enough distance between them and the Cardassians to fire their torpedoes safely - and that’s their only chance to inflict some real damage. There won’t be much point escaping death here only to meet it back home when they return without a scalp.

“Captain!” Jensen shouts. “The Aries – they’re releasing escape pods – three so far –“  
It can’t be. “Status on the Aries?”

“They are still moving towards us – one Cardassian frigate is adrift –“

It doesn’t make any sense, although some mechanical malfunction is possible. There’s no time for Lorca to ask questions. The Cardassians seem to get their nerves back. They begin to turn about – the Buran tries to follow but that only attracts more fire from the frigate, and it’s as though they are hanging on a cliff’s edge with their fingertips only to find someone stamping on their hands.

“Shields at 15%! Captain, I don’t think they’ll survive another pass –“

“We have some short-range comms back on, Captain –“

“I need Admiral Cornwell NOW, I don’t give a shit if you have to use smoke signals –“

“The Cardassians have us on lock –“

Their underside gets hit again, far too close to the lower nacelle, and they lose their shields and part of the hull. The Buran shudders with a great wounded shriek as metal is ripped apart by beams of light.

“We have lost all thrusters, Captain!”

Dead in the water. Dead, full stop. Is there any point in telling his crew to abandon ship? Something tells him the Cardassians don’t treat their prisoners of war with any great consideration. Best case scenario, the survivors are used as hostages or pawns, held to some kind of ransom, which the Emperor will never pay. Except maybe for Michael, but he’s not even sure then.

Lorca grits his teeth, waiting to hear that the frigate is coming around again to finish them. When his crewman tells him the frigate is not returning, it’s very quickly clear why – the battleship is turning, intent on claiming the kill.

How petty.

“Captain, we are being hailed from one of the Aries’ escape pods!”

“Tell ‘em we will call them back –“

“It’s – it’s Cadet Burnham, sir.”

“Onscreen –“

He has no idea what he was expecting, really, but what he gets definitely isn’t it, either. Michael’s face fills the screen through statics and crackles, and she’s clearly wearing an EV suit.

“WHAT THE HELL, MICHAEL –“

“It’s nice to see you, too, sir. I need some covering fire, if you can still supply it.”

“Covering fire? Who for?”

“Me, sir. The Cardassians are going to notice I’m getting close and I’m gonna need to eject. If you fire, they will be too busy paying attention to that to notice me.”

He looks to Jensen. “Her escape pod is on a direct trajectory towards the battleship, sir,” he confirms.

“I ask you again, Michael, what the HELL are you doing?”

“Going to kick some Cardassian ass, sir. Can you track me at all? I will need beaming on board the Buran once I’ve planted the device.”

“We only have limited transporter range, Captain,” Jensen warns.

“Then I guess I’ll probably die. Burnham out.”

“Michael? Michael, come back on –“ He spins around, cursing his slow thinking. “Jensen, beam her back here right now –“

“I can’t, sir – I’m still trying to get a lock on her –“

“Helm, can you get us closer?”

“No, Captain, we don’t have the thrusters for it, but I can move us back a bit – might lessen interference and help us get a lock on her.”

“Do it. Can we get any visual on her?”

“Trying, Captain.”

There is the spit and fizz of electricity from damaged stations and the deep thrumming moans of structural damage but the Bridge is otherwise silent, eyes fixed on the viewscreen as images jerk and rock, Jensen manually looking for Michael’s escape pod. Then, after what seems an eternity, the external cameras lock on her pod just as she ejects from it. They watch her flying through debris, her thruster pack at full speed, leaving a trail behind that makes her look briefly like a shooting star.  
She was going to get crushed against the Cardassian shields.

Lorca feels his mind go blank, his stomach drop, unable to understand what he’s watching. But just as he expects her to splatter across the side of the battleship, she banks and dives under its belly, not unlike the Buran did earlier, and disappears.

“Where is she gone? Jensen, WHERE IS SHE GONE?”

“I don’t know, sir –“ he stammers. “I was just about to lock on her, but without visuals, I can’t right now –“

“Buran! This is Cadet Burnham! Do you copy?”

Lorca practically leaps closer to the viewscreen, as though he could spot her better in the twilight of space than his ship’s lenses. Only her voice is coming through to them. “Michael, you have to turn back towards us or we can’t beam you back –“

“Buran, I don’t know if you can hear me. I’m heading back towards you but you need to put some distance between you and the Cardassians now – any shield you’ve got left needs to go to your port side – they’re about to-“

And then, suddenly but in what feels like slow-motion, the Cardassian battleship on the screen shudders then blows apart at the back, and it gets hurled upside down and away from the Buran. A moment later the shockwave hits the Buran – faster than debris from the Cardassian ship,fortunately, which Lorca’s ship is in a poor condition to withstand.

“I’VE GOT HER, CAPTAIN, I’VE GOT CADET BURNHAM –“

Jensen doesn’t want for instructions from Lorca. Michael materialises on the bridge in a shower of golden droplets, halfway through a spin, and falls heavily to the floor, face first. There’s the crack of glass breaking, and two crewmen rush forward to lift her up. She’s heaving, her face is bleeding , but the light at the back of the helmet puts a halo around her head. In the semi-darkness of the bridge, she looks like an angel - and in her armour-like EV suit, like an angel tasked with slaying a dragon.

Magnificent.

Lorca can’t look away. He wants to remember everything about this moment but doesn’t know why. The girl smiles faintly at him, then her eyes flutter shut and her body slumps.  
He stiffens, notices his crew is as stunned as he is. “Manfredi! Get her to sickbay, now. Jensen, keep up the good work and tell me what’s happening out there.” It’s an effort to move his eyes away from Michael, to keep himself on the bridge.

“The Aries is hailing us, Captain.”

“On screen.”

Katrina’s face appears, flushed and sweaty from battle. “Captain Lorca, do you have Cadet Burnham?”

“We have, Admiral.“

She nods, her jaw tensing in what he recognises as relief. “I have offered the Cardassians a ceasefire, and they have accepted. Get your injuries looked at then get aboard the Aries. We have much to discuss. You and your crew have performed admirably today, you should be proud. Long live the Empire!”

**

Lorca doesn’t have to be told twice. He makes his way to Sick Bay, where Manfredi can finally fix his face, but he can’t see where Michael is resting and has to make do with the doc assuring him she is fine apart from a mild concussion and a couple of broken ribs. 

He doesn’t want to distract his crew from any non-essential work, and since the Aries’ transporter system was disabled during the battle, he chooses to use a shuttle to make his way to Katrina.  
He doesn’t really care about the details of what happens next with the Cardassians. Their bout has ended in something of a draw so another round of negotiations beckons. He still thinks it would be stupid to start a war so far out on the fringes of the Empire; maybe the Emperor will be satisfied with Cardassian guarantees when it comes to the Bajorans. In any case that’s for Katrina to worry about right now, not him. So he wastes no time in asking the questions he does want the answers to.

“What did Michael do, Katrina?”

She sighs. “Over the last two weeks, she spent most of her time studying the Cardassian ships and what data we were able to gather about them. By studying energy readings, she theorised that Cardassians might power their shields from individual, localised power sources rather than a single one as we do. It means more powerful shields but also that they can’t readily redistribute them if they need to. She was tracking energy readings off your friend and realised they had probably lost their shield in a particular section at the back.”

That explained why they had responded so fast to Lorca’s manoeuvre. And what Michael had done. “She flew some kind of bomb into that battleship, didn’t she?”

Katrina nods. “It stands to reason that the flight deck would be the least protected.”

“Stands to reason? Probably lost their shield?” He’s shouting and he hates that he is, but he can’t stop himself. “She’s fourteen years-old, Katrina!”

“She turned fifteen last week. We’re friends, Gabriel, but you need to calm down. Don’t make me pull rank on you.”

“You want to pull rank on me? Let’s see you try that with the Emperor.” He runs his hands over his face. “When she finds out – Jesus, what were you thinking?”

She snorts. “I wasn’t thinking anything. Michael did it all by herself.” He stares at her. “Oh she asked for permission first, explained her plan very clearly. Permission was denied, in no uncertain terms.” He says nothing for a bit, trying to collect his thoughts, so she adds, “I don’t think she would have done it for anyone else, you know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She’s a fifteen year-old girl. You’re an attractive man, a leader. You do the math.” Lorca waves a dismissive hand in the air. “You need to take this seriously, Gabriel. You need to take her seriously.”

“I was the one who warned you about her. I know very well she’s crazy.”

“No. You see, that’s the thing. I don’t think she’s crazy. She just doesn’t fear what other people fear.”

**

Less than twelve hours later, Lorca is woken up by a call from the Bridge: Emperor Georgiou wishes to speak with him. He drags himself out of bed with some difficulty (it may have been just his face that got broken but his body feels pretty bruised, too), spends less than a minute in the sonic shower and shaves in the turbolift to his ready room, trying to think of reasons to give Georgiou for Michael being on Katrina’s ship. He realises as he steps out that he never agreed on a story with her, and has no idea what Michael has been telling her mother.

He takes a deep breath then kneels down before activating the holoprojector. Georgiou appears, twice her normal size, as is the point of the device. Her anger doesn’t need amplifying, it’s written all over her face.

"How can I serve you, Your Majesty?"

"By giving me an explanation," she states, and he swears inwardly. "And you can look at me as you do so."

He raises his head. "An explanation for what, Your Majesty?"

"For Michael's actions yesterday. For her presence on Cornwell's ship."

"Michael takes after her mother, Your Majesty. She saw a chance to turn the battle in our favour and she took it."

Georgiou practically snarls at him. "Do not debase yourself with useless flattery, Lorca, and do not push my patience"

"It's the truth. Michael's actions were her own."

"Why was she on Cornwell's ship?"

He remembers Katrina’s words. "I thought she could benefit from getting to know a higher ranking officer. She will need the support and confidence of your forces."

"Strange. You and Admiral Cornwell are close, are you not?" Lorca doesn't answer, but that's an answer in itself, of course. "I thought she would have told you."

Georgiou hasn't given him leave to rise but he stands anyway. "Told me what, Your Majesty?"

"You know, I'm sure, the Picards?"

"I do." The Picards are one of the older patrician clans and almost the only one that carries no military tradition. Instead their influence and power stems mostly from trade and money.

"Edouard Picard has a daughter, Isabelle." Georgiou's expression changes to one of distaste. "Katrina and Isabelle were lovers, it seems."

Lorca knows perfectly well that Georgiou has had plenty of female lovers herself. He guesses that she's mostly disturbed because the relationship was not casual.

"You know this how?"

"Picard came to me with evidence. I had it checked, it was genuine. He wanted Cornwell's head - the Bajoran sector was the best alternative I could think of. Cornwell is too good to lose over something as ridiculous as this but I needed her to keep a low profile to appease Picard."

"The Cardassians fired first, Your Majesty. And the glory of the Empire is more important than a shopkeeper's pride."

"Without a doubt. But Michael's presence on her ship is more problematic. She is my representative. Suddenly Cornwell's banishment becomes a slap in Picard's face."

Lorca understand now what Katrina was hiding from him. He's grateful that she tried to keep him out of her own problems but angry, too that they could have been in each other’s life for so long and he had no idea that she felt that way. He wonders whether Michael knew. And if she did, and asked to be on Cornwell's ship, what does that mean?

"You did well in battle, Captain," she continues. "Even if you did have to be rescued by a fourteen year-old girl." Fifteen, he thinks, but doesn't correct her. "Haven't I chosen her well?"

**

He’s tired. Thanks to Georgiou’s call he’s not had enough sleep, and bitterness rises in his throat as he recalls the Emperor’s poor choice of congratulatory words. He’s lost 26 men and women and a dozen more have been severely injured, and everyone else is some kind of walking wounded. He doesn’t know yet about the patrol and transport ships, or even Katrina’s crew.

He should try and get some more sleep, or even to talk to Katrina, but he heads for Sick Bay instead. Michael is awake, sitting up in bed and writing something up on her PADD.

“At ease, Cadet,” he tells her as she tries to stand and salute him. She nods her thanks and winces as she adjusts her position again. Her face has been healed and only bears the faintest trace of her injuries but the ribs will remain painful for a few weeks.

“Kick some Cardassian ass, huh? I think you went straight for their balls.”

She grins and blushes at the same time; the contrast seems to encapsulate everything that she is at this moment in time, caught between confidence and inexperience, no longer a girl but not yet a woman, either.

Lorca looks around him. The Sick Bay is quiet and Michael has been put at the far end of the room, no doubt due to her status. Still, he activates the privacy shields.

“You’re something special, Michael. You really are. And I’m gonna need you to stay alive long enough to become amazing. Do you understand?” She nods, blushing more still. “I can help you do that, but you’re going to have to trust me, and the things I tell you. The orders I give you. Will you do that?”

She doesn’t reply straight away and he likes that she is taking him seriously. “Yes, I will, Captain.”

“Gabriel. When we are not on duty, you can call me Gabriel. You have earned that.”

She smiles and her gaze grows serious and earnest, and Lorca is pretty sure he is looking about the same, because there is something.... contagious about her. “I will, Gabriel.”

“And I should probably call you ‘Your Highness’ because you’ve fucking well earned that, too.” Michael laughs, and Lorca feels pleased with himself. Then he remembers the other reason he came down to see her. “How did you find your time on Admiral Cornwell’s ship?”

“Very instructive. I like her.”

“Did you know?”

She blinks. “Know what?”

“The real reason she was assigned to this sector. I’m guessing that’s what you discussed with her when you asked to speak to her alone?” Michael bites her lip. “Trust me. Remember?” He realises that it’s a ridiculous thing to ask in the world they live in. But she seems to like that he’s asked her.

“Yes, I knew. I have my own information channels. I heard before she arrived. I thought my mother might tell me but she didn’t.”

“Why did you ask to go on her ship? Because you shouldn’t be trying to rile your mother. It’s too soon after what you did with the files.” 

“I wasn’t trying to rile my mother. I know that Cornwell is not all that popular on the Council. People may not know why she was sent here but they are assuming punishment of some kind.” She shrugs.  
“I thought if I spent time with her, it might help. To keep her from looking like she was out of favour.”  
Lorca considers the girl in front of him. So incredibly brave and smart, and he thinks he wouldn’t mind serving her.

“I thank you for that, Michael. And she probably hasn’t told you, but she will be incredibly grateful, too.”

Michael looks at him now like he is the naive teenager. “I didn’t do it for her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that any homophobic content or remarks or thoughts by the characters in my story are NOT my own views. It just makes sense to me that the Terran Empire would be socially conservative and homophobic, even as those who can "get away with it" will do so, very much as it used to be in Western society and remains the case in many places around the world.


	7. Rules of Engangement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for taking such a long time to update. This is a kind of transitional chapter in the story and for a multitude of boring reasons, I found it really tricky to work out how to get to the next step, which I have down already (although only partially written).
> 
> At least it's mega long chapter, so that makes up for it, no? No...? Really? DARN DARN DARNY DARN.
> 
> As ever, huge thanks to makimurakaori for the beta and also to both her and AGDoren for advice and patient ears when I was whinging on about my writer's block.
> 
> Lots of bad language here.

**VII. Rules of Engagement**

 

Lorca watches her get her dues. In the throne room of the _Charon_ , Michael is awarded the 50 Kills Medal (its youngest recipient ever) and officially anointed as Emperor Georgiou’s heir. She receives a new suit of armour that seems too big for her but she wears it well. Georgiou looks upon her with more pride than he’s ever seen before and he’s glad. Katrina has stayed behind to negotiate with the Cardassians and to avoid further ire from the Picards, so Lorca has to smirk at them on his own, doubly so when they bow low before Michael and she spares him a quick amused glance.

Afterwards he accompanies the Emperor and the Princess on a tour of the outer colonies, Georgiou being keen to remind Terrans further away from home of the might of Starfleet and its officers, and how necessary they are to the continuing survival of these new territories. Their last stop is Tarsus IV, a colony at the far edge of the Alpha Quadrant. A class-M planet, it was gifted to veterans of the war with the Romulans one hundred years previously, and since then has become home to many veterans of other conflicts; he used to joke with Katrina about retiring there together.

The colony’s main settlement New Anchorage has a spaceport planet-side but it was built to accommodate colony supply ships, not combat-class ones and let alone anything approaching the size of the  _ Charon _ . Informed that magnetic fields are currently fluctuating too much for safe beaming on and off the planet, they take a shuttle to the surface. As its doors slide open, an endearingly child-like look of delight comes over Michael’s face. He forgets that she has not spent much time on any kind of solid ground since her adoption and even less so since she joined him on the  _ Buran _ . As for her life before, it had also been spent travelling with her parents, both scientists; she had spent a year as a prisoner of the rebels and his understanding was that the base she had been rescued from had been mostly underground. 

Ah, hell. The sight that greets him is enough to make him seriously consider early retirement.They’ve landed on the outskirts of the city, which rises behind them, but everywhere else the land is a sea on fire: hills covered in trees of red and gold leaves, undulating ever higher towards a mountain range in the distance. The grass below their feet is a deep, swaying green, the flowers colourful and fragrant, messily dotted around them as they usually do when left to do what they will. Not far from the landing pad, he can hear water flowing over rocks. The air is cool, with a clean sharpness like only non-recycled air can have, but the sun is still hot on the skin.

He can feel Michael’s eyes on him and they share a grin. He can tell she’s itching to run off into the wilderness but she stays put and her expression turns more serious as the colony’s representatives step up to greet them.

“Your Majesty, Your Highness.” Governor Giselia Ribeiro bows deeply. “Welcome to Tarsus IV. You have bestowed us a great honour.”

“And your service honours yourself and the Empire,” Georgiou replies.

A Starfleet Marines officer steps forward and bows also. “Long live the Empire! I am Lieutenant Colonel Meizhen Bao. I lead the Marine outpost here. It is indeed an honour to have you and your daughter visit us.” He turns and salutes Lorca. “As it is to meet you, Captain Lorca.” 

Lorca returns the salute, noting Bao’s relatively young appearance.If he’s made Lieutenant Colonel already, he might be one to watch.

“Your Majesty, may I introduce you to Council Leader Adrian Kodos?” Ribeiro continues, using her arm to invite her companions forward. “And these are my aides, Balayna Ferasini and Ian Galloway.”

Lorca pays little attention to the ordinary-looking men who respectfully bow to them all, and instead begins to wonder immediately about Ferasini. She is not particularly striking (her curly brown hair is worn in a simple ponytail), being pretty rather than beautiful, but something about the spark in her eyes and the curve of her hips in otherwise drab robes intrigue him. He tries a slight smile, which she returns in kind. 

The columns of Bao’s battalion part before them and they climb aboard the cars waiting to take them into the city - and it is is a wonder to enter it. Not because of impressive architecture - dwellings and workplaces have retained a mostly utilitarian look - but because there is no gradual change from countryside to urban environment. Instead the world outside New Anchorage suddenly disappears as they enter the city limits, as though they had driven into a tunnel. Michael has her gaze fixed outside the window, on the mountain tops that do remain visible above the roofs, while Georgiou listens to Ribeiro and Kodos extol the virtues of their agricultural engineering. Lorca finds the conversation dull and barely comprehensible, which turns his attention to Ferasini, who is sitting opposite him.

“Balayna, wasn’t it?” he starts, crossing one leg over his knee.

She looks up from her PADD, laying it down on her lap with her hands clasped over it. “Balayna Ferasini, yes. Miss. What can I do for you, Captain?”

Miss? Well, that’s helpful information, and from the way she sits and looks at him it’s intended as such. “Miss Ferasini - apologies. All these amazing crops you’re growing - do they include things like barley and hop?”

“They do.”

“And you have cattle, too?”

“That’s correct. One of our more successful recent development is a variety of wheat that provides more nourishment per gram than before, meaning less is required to feed our animals.”

“Wonderful. Does that mean you have places that serve beer and steak?”

Her smile broadens. “Yes, we have several such places.”

“Any you could recommend?”

“Of course, I would be glad to.”

“Great. Maybe take me there tomorrow night?”  

Balayna nods. “It would be my pleasure and honor. I will forward you details later.”

They reach their destination: the centre of New Anchorage, which features a wide, attractive square dotted with water fountains and trees. The council building boasts a dome in the classical style and stands opposite a large amphitheatre where Georgiou is due to make a speech. Ribeiro claims proudly that it can accommodate up to half the colony’s population and as such is the focus of most of the special events and occasions celebrated on Tarsus IV.

Lorca heads first into Georgiou’s quarters with two of her bodyguards, as is his duty. The rooms definitely lean towards the handmade and old Earth but someone has tried to make them look more regal in her honour, with mounds of soft furnishings and platters of fruits and sweet delicacies on low, dark tables, and deep and very comfortable-looking leather sofas and armchairs. He does the same with Michael’s quarters, in spite of her protests. 

“Any Klingons under the bed?” It has become a private joke between them, ever since that night when he’d comforted her after a nightmare.

“None, Princess. Not even dust bunnies.”

“Why do you never check my bunk on the  _ Buran _ ?”

“Don’t need to. Crew knows you. Rightly too terrified to even try a whoopie cushion.” He clicks his tongue as she reaches for something that looks like chocolate. “We need to scan first, check for poisons.”

Michael predictably rolls her eyes. “Can’t I just get you to try a bit of everything, see if you drop dead?”

“When I enlisted in the Fleet, I swore an oath to die for the Empire - not for the Emperor’s daughter’s sweet tooth.”

“Coward.”

“That’s why I’m still alive.”

She laughs. He leaves her guards to get on with the scanning so she can indulge before they reconvene with the Emperor for a briefing about the upcoming events they are to attend; namely her speech that evening, followed by a reception for the colony’s ruling elite and other descendants of its early settlers.

The speech Georgiou makes at the amphitheatre is not particularly long - she does not like to talk when it isn’t to drive people to action - but her presence on Tarsus IV, so far from the center of the Empire, has clearly surprised and awed most of its people. She is much more at ease later, in the company of veterans (one or two of which she seems to know from her early days of service), and her speech to them is much more lyrical and heartfelt than the one she gave to the civilian crowd. He notices that Kodos in particular listens somewhat raptuously and his applause is enthusiastically directed at the veterans. Lorca finds himself warming a little to the politician: slim, shorter than Lorca, with thinning red hair and overly-groomed facial hair, he’d struck him as your typical big fish in a small pond, the sort that would be least likely to make it anywhere near the front line of a fight, but he had gone to greet the former soldiers first when he had arrived at the reception and many had  returned his greetings with what seemed like genuine friendliness. He spends a lot of time talking to Michael but she doesn’t seem to mind as far as Lorca can tell. 

Georgiou’s second speech over, Lorca tries to catch Balayna’s eye but she is by Ribeiro’s side and flanked by Bao; in different circumstances he would simply walk over and either join the conversation or simply steer her away with him if she was amenable, but he knows of his duties as a guest. Instead he goes to introduce himself to a woman who looks to be in her mid-fifties and who he heard mention the name of a captain he served under early in his career. He ends up talking to her and her little group for a while, trying to map who else they all know. It’s an odd kind of party, somewhat stilted - the very few parties he has gone to over the years have been grand affairs on the  _ Charon _ , with copious amounts of all kinds of exotic dishes and drinks from all over the Empire, often different types of entertainments, and more politicking than should be going on given the state of inebriation that guests quickly reach. Surprisingly, Georgiou seems to be enjoying herself and the group she is talking to (Ribeiro and her Council members) gradually seem to relax a little in her intimidating presence. Still, she excuses herself early, catching his eye as she does so to direct his attention towards Michael and Kodos, still deep in conversation near the balcony. With a sigh, he excuses himself and joins them.

“Captain Lorca,” Kodos greets him jovially.

“Councilman,” Lorca nods. 

"We have an heretic here, Captain,” Michael mock-whispers. 

Kodos chuckles. “I am anything but!”

“Councilman Kodos believes there are things we can learn from non-Terrans. Even  _ Klingons _ .”

“We are only as great as our strongest enemy, Your Highness. The Klingons are savages but they are capable of great cunning. They are intensely individualistic yet deeply dedicated to their clan and to their own Empire - such as it was.”

“I’m not sure it turned out to be such a great combination,” Lorca interjects. “In the end it kept them disunited and easy pickings.”

“That’s very true, of course, although I would suggest they may simply have lacked the right leadership.”

“He likes Vulcans, too,” Michael continues, a slight smile on her lips. For as long as Lorca’s known her, she has been fascinated by Vulcans; they have spent many hours discussing their philosophy of logic, playing with different scenarios and putting them through a Vulcan prism.

“What’s not to like?” Kodos replies. “Not only is their physical strength on the par with Klingons, but they are also highly intelligent. Their dedication to logic and ideas over emotions allowed them to become a powerful and united force. It saved us from what would have been a painful war and gave us invaluable allies.”

“Well, you’ve certainly found a friend in Her Highness,” Lorca says. “Sometimes I think she’d like nothing more than for all us to sport the same awful haircut.”

“Nothing can make you look worse than you already do, Captain,” she retorts. Lorca feigns a wounded look. “But what do you make of the Romulans, Councilman? They rejected logic, chose emotions as source of their strength, and they struck some resounding victories against Vulcan. In fact, they are probably to thank for Vulcan’s eagerness to ally themselves with us.”

“A very good point, which leads me to the one I was trying to make. We Terrans punch far above our weight, consistently so. In fact, our own rapid growth and development nearly led to the destruction of Earth. And that’s because we feature far greater diversity within our race than the Vulcans or Klingons or Andorrians do. We  _ must  _ continue to do so. We have already been absorbing technology from other species - why not consider what in their culture could strengthen us also?”

“The diversity you talk about is also what kept us killing one another for centuries,” Lorca interjects. “It was chaos. Is that what you’d have us do, go back to that?” 

Kodos’ countenance grows more serious. “Not at all. Quite the opposite. I believe the Empire is the best thing that ever happened to our race. We need order, just like the Vulcans need logic. Because of our very nature.”

“Meaning?”

“We are all just animals, Captain. Highly evolved and adaptable. But we haven’t fundamentally changed over the last few thousand years. We can do nothing without food and shelter. We are primed to ensure the reproduction of our genes. Take away food and shelter, and survival will trounce everything else. That’s served us well in many ways, of course. Survival of the fittest and so on.” He pauses and chuckles, indicating his own slim, groomed appearance. “In my case, survival of the smartest, because I doubt I could win even an arm-wrestling contest. But this is what makes us - makes the Empire - great: we have both order and competition. We need the strongest among us to bring order, and in turn order allows us to become truly more than what we are. You need fire to forge steel, after all, but only skill turns it into a sword.”

Lorca can feel his lip twitch. Sure, he’s discussed a lot of different ideas with Michael, but he’s always turned her away from the more abstract thoughts. They don’t help when you’ve got 3 enemy warships bearing down on you. “You seem too much of a philosopher to enjoy being on a backwater farming colony like this one. How’d you end up here?”

Michael frowns at him, hearing the hostility in the question. Kodos, again, doesn’t seem to notice or mind. “I chose to be here. I see this place as the potential template for the future of the Empire. Its high population of veterans means I can see for myself what makes a true survivor and how leadership works. The way this colony has grown is remarkable, and that’s down to its people - very few people of which aren’t remarkable in one way or another.” Kodos tilts his head towards Michael. “None as remarkable as Your Highness, of course. A warrior and a scholar, it seems.”

There is no obsequiousness there that Lorca can see. Michael looks a little uncomfortable, but then she’s never been good at taking a compliment. “That she is, Councilman,” Lorca responds. “Who unfortunately needs to return to her quarters and prepare for tomorrow.”

She’s not happy but knows better than to complain. They give their goodbyes to Kodos, as well as the rest of the guests.

“What do you make of him?” Michael asks on the short walk to her quarters.

“Talks too much.”

She gives him a playful slap on the arm. “Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Pretend to be dumb when you’re anything but.”

Has Michael just called him  **_smart_ ** ? It’s a strange thing to hear from the smartest person he knows. He shakes off the awkwardness with a shrug. “Another reason I’m still alive, Princess.”

Having checked her quarters, her two bodyguards swap places with the ones that have stood by her doors all afternoon. It doesn’t take long to review her activities for the next day.

“I thought he was interesting,” Michael resumes, to Lorca’s chagrin. “And quite bold with his ideas. Not many people would say out loud what he did.”

“That’s because there’s no one here who listens.”

“I listened. I could tell my mother.”

“I’m sure that’s what he’s hoping for. His ideas may be unusual but hardly revolutionary - I agree with most of ‘em. He probably figures a good word in the Emperor’s ear from her daughter wouldn’t hurt.”

“Yeah,” she says, sounding disappointed. “Probably.” 

Lorca sighs inwardly. Although they have got closer again since her rescue of the  _ Buran _ , some of her reactions still baffle him. She’s not naive, or ignorant of how these things work, what her position means for the relationships she makes. This should not be a surprise to her.

She straightens her shoulders and goes to one of the large bay windows, cracking it open. People are milling about in the square below, laughing and drinking, in spite of the chill in the air. Lanterns have been strung across the trees in honour of the Emperor, and it gives the night a warm glow.

Lorca’s communicator beeps; Georgiou wants to see him. 

He finds her in the same place he left Michael: staring out of her own window. “Interesting place, isn’t it?” she starts. “A little bubble of peace in a very dangerous universe. If that was all you knew, what a wonderful world it would be. But we know better, don’t we?”

“We certainly do, Your Majesty.” 

“To think we used to fight and kill and enslave each other,” she continues. “What a waste. The other - the REAL other - was never next to us but above us. I look at this place and I wonder, how long can we protect it? Ourselves? How many of our lives up there -” Georgiou tilts her chin up to the skies then out towards the square “-for the lives down here?”

“As many as it takes,” Lorca answers. “That’s why I joined Starfleet. It doesn’t matter where you meet Death - space or the ground. If Death wants you, it will find you. At least in space you can meet it by choice, and keep it away from your people.”

“Your loyalty to the Empire and our race is a true gift, Captain,” Georgiou replies with a nod. “And you are mostly right. But I think it is time that we change strategy. Instead of waiting to meet Death, why not become Death itself?”

Unlike some of her predecessors, Emperor Georgiou has always been predictable where it matters. The rules as she has set them down are clear: follow your duty; your duty is to the Empire first, then to your honour second; the Emperor is law and the rule of law is all. As long as you follow the rules, she will encourage and reward your ambition. That is how Lorca has become the Emperor’s Fist.

Something about this declaration, however, does not sit well with Lorca. He knows his history well enough to understand that the temptation of total victory can be a fatal one.

“What would that entail, Your Majesty?”

“It doesn’t matter where or when you fight, the key to a successful military campaign remains logistics. Moving people and supplies quickly enough. So in the short term, ramping up research into anything that can give us a tactical advantage, such as cloaking or speed. And we need to start doing what our enemies do not. The element of surprise is still the most important weapon.  _ Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose. _ ”

Lorca relaxes a little. He can’t disagree with any of that. “I have a few thoughts about our current tactical strengths and weaknesses. May I present you with a report?”

“That is exactly what I need. And get Michael involved. The girl can clearly think outside the box.”

Lorca bows and leaves.

**  

He spends most of the next day preparing for the joint exercises planned with Bao’s Marines (his crew need more ground experience), with Michael doing the same with the Standard-Bearers cadet corps. The children and teenagers give Michael a rapturous welcome, incredulous that someone who pretty much looks like them has already attained the sort of glory few adults ever do. She’s one of the oldest teenagers there but there is no mistaking her youth, and Lorca feels a little sorry for her. He was a tall fifteen year-old and he thought he knew it all but he was still little more than a child at that age, more concerned with ways to have fun than the future - or even the present. They had been happy times, even if he had no interest in revisiting them. He would not wish Michael’s burden on anyone, yet she seems to bear it effortlessly still. She deserves everything he can give her.

Before he meets Balayna, he visits a bar off the main square so he can buy a few drinks for those of his crew that are planetside. They are already engaged in a drinking contest with a few of Bao’s men; when he enters, Ensign William Pickford jumps on a table and whistles so loudly and sharply that everyone in the room flinches. 

“Captain at the bar!” he bellows, in a voice that fits his broad shoulders and stout face, before leading the rest of the crew into rowdy salutes and a song to Lorca’s glory. Lorca laughs and gives Pickford a bear hug and a sound thumping on his back when he comes off the table. He takes the young man’s place and stretches out his arms to demand silence.

“Thank you,” he tells his crew. “I will remind you that you are guests in this fine establishment and on this fine planet - you will uphold the good reputation and honour of the  _ ISS Buran _ or I will have you scrubbing portholes with a toothbrush and no space suit for a month. CLEAR?”

“YES, CAPTAIN LORCA, SIR!” 

“Next round on me -” Their cheering interrupts him but he brings it down with another raise of his hand. “Barkeep, your finest lemonade for all!” Groans and laughter mingle. “I’ll remind you all bunch of butt-sharks and BUBs that you’re not doing battle tomorrow with Cadet Burnham and her rugrats but with some fine Marines. You gonna embarrass me? Yourself?”

“No, sir -”

“Never -”

“Good. As you were.”

Lorca jumps off the table. As he pays for his crew’s lemonade as promised, he spots Bao sitting at the end of the counter, nursing a beer. He nods to the Marine, gets a nod back, then is distracted by Pickford, who seems to have volunteered to collect the drinks from the bar.

“Hey, Pickford.” The young man straightens, tries to look more sober. “I mean it. All of it. You’ve got tomorrow to think about and if you end up in the drunk tank, I ain’t getting you out. We leave without you and the A.W.O.L. is on you. Got it?” 

“Yes, sir.”

Lorca grabs the back of his neck, pulls him close to his face. “I like you, Pickford. Don’t make me do it.”

“No - no, sir.”

He lets Pickford go, slaps him on the ass as the Ensign struggles away with glasses in his hands. He can still feel Bao’s eyes on his back when he heads through the door. 

**

Balayna is waiting for him at the entrance of the place she recommended, wearing a black, long-sleeved dress that hugs all her curves all the way to the middle of her thighs, calf-length boots and tights over what’s left visible of her legs. 

“You look lovely,” Lorca grins, wondering if this place delivers its food.

She smiles back, holding his gaze. “And you look very handsome - but I’m sure you knew that.”

He chuckles, pleased that she seems playful, and he holds the door for her. It’s more of a bar or a pub than a restaurant from what he can see, but offers a handful of plain dishes as a lunch and dinner service. It’s located on one of the more narrow, quieter and older streets near the centre, and not much natural light comes through the large bay windows that make up its street side. He wonders about eating al fresco only to find that he likes the muted light inside. It’s busy but not too noisy and their table is in a good spot - he ignores the inner voice that tells him to sit face out towards the room but she seems keen that he should enjoy the view of the street outside so he dutifully follows her instructions. It is a pretty view: lights come on as they settle down, warming up the dusk. Having made their choice of what to have, Lorca stands again to order from the bar. 

The food is great, the beer crisp and cool, and the company extremely pleasant. Balayna is intelligent and witty and fun-loving: she takes him to another bar when they have finished eating, one where the lights are low and flashing and the music is too loud to talk, so that the only thing you can do is drink and dance. He likes to practice what he preaches so doesn’t drink as much as he’d like to, which seems to have been Balayna’s plan all along.

“If you’re not drinking, you’ve got to dance,” she shouts into his ear above the thumping of the music, and he lets her drag him onto the dance floor. He can’t afford to stay out all night, either so he decides to test the waters now, and puts his arm around her waist, pulling her to him. She’s surprised but happily slings her arms around his neck. They sway together like that for a bit, not exactly keeping to the rhythm of the music, and he kisses her. Balayna kisses him back, her mouth welcoming him, her hips pushing against him most invitingly.

Lorca directs her off away from the crowd and they spend some time in a rather dark corner until he decides he’s done with feeling what’s under her dress and wants to see. They stagger out into the street hand in hand and she points straight ahead; as it’s not back towards his quarters he guesses she’s taking them back to her place. A few meters down the street, she pulls his hand to make him stop and, leaning against him, removes her boots.

“That’s pretty damn keen,” he says, making her laugh.

“Hate those damn things,” Balayna says. “Didn’t want you to have to carry me.”

“I’ve carried heavier and uglier, and all under fire. Come on -” He signals to her to hop on his back. She gives him an incredulous look but when he repeats the gesture, she obeys.

They walk along like this, the crowd too busy with their own end of the week revelries, to notice them or the way Balayna kisses and nibbles on his ears and neck, until she suddenly stiffens behind him.

“Not that way, Captain -”

“I think Gabriel’s fine.”

“Not that way - we need to turn around -”

Lorca frowns. “Isn’t it faster through the square?”

“I know a better way,” she insists, “we just need to -”

“CAPTAIN!”

Lorca turns back towards the square. Some of the crew and Marines he had found in that bar earlier are standing around by a fast food hole-in-the-wall, either waiting for their orders or to place them.

“Fine way to uphold the  _ Buran _ ’s honour, sir,” Ensign Pickford shouts out, saluting him. “You must plant that flagpole for the Emperor, sir!”

Thankfully Lieutenant Deschamps drags Pickford away, looking like she’s having a strong word in his ear, which means Lorca can carry on his way through the square.

Balayna is strangely restrained for the remainder of their short journey. He’s wondering whether she’s changed her mind, but she drags him in for a kiss as soon as she is on the ground by her apartment door.

**

Balayna makes them coffee afterwards and they talk; he wants to ask her about what was wrong earlier but as she no longer seems unnerved, he decides there’s no point. She tells him about growing up on Tarsus IV, about her boredom and how she once hoped to visit Earth and study there. She asks him for suggestions and he offers what little advice he can - and then he can’t resist the curve of her breasts under the sheets and the talking stops again.

He makes it back to his quarters around 1am and is glad to find his eyelids feel heavy in spite of the couple of strong espressos he’s shared with Balayna. He gets his uniform ready for the morning, makes sure his boots are polished, then falls asleep almost as soon as he gets into bed.

**

It’s another bright, sunny afternoon as all involved in the exercises gather at the foot of the forest outside New Anchorage, with the Emperor, Governor Ribeiro, and Councilman Kodos watching from screens linked to cameras and drones among the trees; Balayna, however, isn’t there. A few children from the Standard-Bearers cadet troops have been selected to join the exercise as observers, led by Michael. One boy, his hair a light brown and skin likewise from a lot of time spent outdoors, spends the waiting time chatting to a couple of his crew members, darting his eyes in Lorca and Michael’s direction several times.

Lorca points him out to Michael. “I think you’ve got a fan, Your Highness.”

She looks up from checking the clasps on her utility belt, then rolls her eyes. “Oh no, not me. You have. He spent about half an hour asking me questions about you yesterday - I think he knows your record better than you.”

“You should tell him I’m a terrible role model.”

“I think that’s why he loves you.”

He grins. “I like the kid already. What’s his name?” 

“Jim Kirk.” She unsheathes her knife, lets the blade shine in the sunlight, then returns it to its leather scabbard. “He’s a pain the ass, so I’m sure he’ll go far.”

“What’s your plan on how to handle him?”

“He’s eight years-old, he doesn’t require ‘handling’.” Michael pauses. “Give him a wedgie until he whistles like a kettle the minute he thinks he knows better than me.”

“That’s my girl.” He slings his rifle to his back, and they bump their raised forearms. 

He leaves her to finish briefing the cadets while he preps his own men. It isn’t a competitive exercise as such - both groups are a mix of his crew and Marines - but the way Bao’s men stand apart from his own suggests it may as well be.

“Deschamps, what’s with the wallflowers over there? Something happen last night?”

She looks a little uncomfortable. “Not exactly, sir. Bit of joshing. We got the last word and I’m guessing they don’t like it.”

“Well, this is gonna be fun, isn’t it?” Deschamps starts to reply. “Shut up. I know I’m smiling but I’m really fucking furious. Do your fucking jobs, let them teach you something then say thank you afterwards. You got that?”

His crew’s positive reply is quite a lot more subdued than the night before.

**

It’s a slow-going affair, and Lorca ‘s glad because that’s exactly the kind of experience his crew lacks. Their battles up in space happen very fast and against basically invisible enemies. Taking a fight to the ground, in this kind of topography, requires personal stealth, patience, and the ability to control your trigger finger. During the first phase, it’s maneuvers only - they practice assessing the terrain and their route using drones that transmit images directly to their goggles, which is not as easy as it sounds, before taking turns on choosing a location to defend and then assaulting the other group’s base. Lorca’s group defends first: a few booby traps slow down Bao but in the end his greater experience allows him a victory whose speed seems to satisfy him - although Lorca wonders whether he would truly sacrifice that many men in a frontal assault in a real fight.

After a break, it’s Lorca’s group’s turn to go on the offensive. They advance in a double-breasted flying wedge formation across the forest, with another unit much further back to cover their rear, while pairing men within the wedge formation means that they can protect their flank and advance at the same time. They won’t have much time once they engage Bao, and hope that forcing him to spread his defences means they could break through decisively.

The tactic seems to work - Lorca loses men at the rear but once stealth is no longer required, they dart forward towards Bao’s defensive line. Just as they reach the shelter of some mossy rocks, Bao’s soldiers run over the top of their line towards Lorca and his units. With no shelter they are easy pickings; he is trying to work out how many men Bao may have left now when Michael’s voice booms overhead through the monitoring drones.

“Cease fire, cease fire. Captain Lorca, please come now -”

As the noise of their firefight dies down, Lorca becomes aware of people shouting - he’s pretty sure Michael is one of them - and sprints across to Bao’s ground, switching the setting on his rifle from ‘exercise’ to ‘kill.’

Just as he leaps over the barricade of large, ancient tree trunks, there is a gurgling noise he knows too well, then a heavy thud. Bao has his back to Lorca but he turns to face him as Lorca calls out to him. His face is sweaty and dirty but otherwise impassive. At his feet, lying on his stomach in an expanding pool of blood, is Ensign Pickford. His already pale skin is now ghostly, to match the lifeless eyes fixed on the earth. In Bao’s right-hand is a large, jagged hunting knife, dripping red, which he proceeds to wipe on his sleeve.

Lorca grabs Bao by his collar so hard and so fast that the blade is dropped to the ground; with a kick to the back to Bao’s legs, the Marine ends up on his back on the forest floor, the landing so heavy that there is the distinct sound of air knocked out of lungs.

“What the actual fucking fuck, Bao?”

“Captain, let me explain, sir -”

His forearm pushing hard against Bao’s throat, Lorca looks up at Michael. Some of Bao’s Marines are pointing their rifles at him, while others are pointing them at Lorca’s crew, who have raised their own weapons. He glances around him, picking up the sounds of a light scuffle, but it’s two of Bao’s people trying to hold the kids back a short distance away; he’s dimly aware of the Kirk boy breaking through and stumbling forward a few steps.  

“Captain Lorca, Lieutenant Colonel Bao, report to Command immediately.”

That’s the Emperor’s voice. His crew and Bao’s men lower their weapons almost immediately. Lorca tightens his grip one last time before releasing Bao and he gets some grim satisfaction from the sound of the man’s wheezing as they hurry to Emperor Georgiou’s camp.

Bao kneels in front of Georgiou as soon as they get there; Lorca can barely stop himself from sending him to the floor with the kick to the back of his head. He won’t play Bao’s game, either, choosing to simply salute the Emperor.

“Ensign Pickford was Captain Lorca’s man. Explain yourself, Bao.”

“Ensign Pickford was tasked with Communications during this exercise. On several occasions he transmitted orders incorrectly and also challenged my authority - I believe because he was drunk.”

“On what evidence?”

“That of my eyes, and the fact my men counter-attacked later than I told Pickford to order them to, leaving them open to Captain Lorca’s fire.”

“Is that what the drones showed?”

Georgiou waves a hand in the air. “There were no drones in their location at that moment in time.”

“Convenient,” Lorca sneers. “And in any case Pickford was  **_mine_ ** to deal with, Bao.”

“It was not your authority being challenged, Captain, it was mine. To be challenged in front of my men - by a space cowboy - I was not gonna let that go.”

“What did ya call us?”

“ENOUGH,” Georgiou barks. “In what way did Pickford challenge you, Bao?”

“Ask her, Your Majesty.” Bao indicates Deschamps, who has just arrived with Michael. 

“Lieutenant Deschamps, is it?” Georgiou asks, her tone glacial. “Care to explain?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she replies, bowing deeply. She has more sense than to hesitate. “I don’t believe Ensign Pickford was drunk today, but he was last night, when we were out. He made some jokes about Lieutenant Colonel Bao.”

“I was not there at the time to deal with it,” Bao interrupts. “It was my men who reported his remarks.”

“Jokes? And did they offend you because they were not funny, or too funny? Deschamps, do you remember the jokes?”

“Not the specific words, Your Majesty. Just something about… about the Lieutenant Colonel and Balayna Ferasini and Captain Lorca. Because Captain Lorca and Ferasini were seen together. But it seems there was a relationship established between Ferasini and the Lieutenant Colonel.”

**_Oh, shit._ **

“Michael?” Georgiou addresses her daughter. “You were there, were you not? Was a challenge issued?”

She nods. “Lieutenant Colonel Bao told Pickford he had a choice: lick his boots, or fight. I told Pickford to choose the boots. He felt he had to defend the honour of the  _ Buran _ , of the Captain. So he picked the fight.” 

“Why didn’t your men fight for you, Bao?” Lorca interjects. “Did they find the jokes funny, too?”

“Unlike you, I don’t need my men to fight for  **_my_ ** honour, Captain.”

There is that whistle of steel against steel as Georgiou draws her sword quicker than her small stature should let her. She swings the blade into place between Lorca and Bao. “That’s ENOUGH. This is a ridiculous matter to lose a man over, and I don’t need to lose another excellent soldier over it. Pickford mocked a superior officer. He was offered a choice, he took it. Kneel before me, both of you.”

Bao is first to the ground, Lorca takes a beat longer, seething with anger. Then he feels the cold, sharp point of Georgiou’s sword on his chin and is forced to look up at her.

“I shall hear no more about this incident, or anything related to it. Do you understand, Captain?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he answers, loud and clear.

She moves her blade to the side of Bao’s face, lets it glide ever so slightly over his cheek. “Bao?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” His tone is slightly less monotone for once, as a cut opens over his skin and blood begins to flow.

“Splendid. Everyone did well today. I look forward to the reports. Dismissed.”

Lorca can feel his jaws clench. As both he and Bao rise to their feet, Michael moves and comes to stand between him and the Marine. She takes a step so he can’t walk out without barging her out of the way, and only after a beat does she head out the way Bao went, pausing again on the threshold of Georgiou’s tent. She checks her watch as she finally steps aside.

“That’s enough of that, Burnham,” Lorca starts, nearly growling. “I don’t need -”

“Look at that, I’m off-duty. Captain Lorca - take me back to New Anchorage, would you? Lieutenant Deschamps can wrap things up here.” Deschamps is taken aback by the change in Michael’s tone and the sudden shift in power. She looks at Lorca, who signals to her to do as Michael says.

Safely ensconced in their car, Michael offers Lorca some water, which he rejects. “I couldn’t let you, Gabriel. You heard her.” She points at her cheek. “And she made Bao know she wasn’t impressed.”  

“What I heard was an asshole spouting horseshit because he didn’t have the balls for a real dick-measuring contest.”

“That’s got to be a new record for mixing metaphors.”

He suddenly remembers who he’s with, and how old she is. “Apologies, Your Highness.”

She makes a face. “Michael, please. I only pulled ranks because I didn’t want you to lose your head and  **_then_ ** lose your head. Anyway, I’ve heard worse in Engineering. Usually about you.” He grunts. “Bao may be an asshole, but Pickford was an idiot.”

“You think it’s true? He messed up the orders and showed up drunk today?”

“No, I don’t, actually. But I’m talking about whatever he said about you and Balayna, and who he said it to. He was a fun guy but he was always looking for a fight, from what the others said - and you don’t go butting heads with a Lieutenant Colonel of the Marines who’s got twenty years experience on you.”

She’s right, of course. But still… “I just don’t like assholes.”

Michael nods. Then, “Did you know? About Bao and Balayna?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Would it have made a difference if you had known?”

“Sure. I’d have been more discreet.” 

“Look who’s an asshole now.” Lorca frowns at her. He’s in no mood for their usual sallies. She sighs, raises a conciliatory hand.

Looking out of the car window, he notices they can’t be far from Balayna’s apartment. When the driver, employed by the Council, confirms she does know her address, he directs her there.

“I will you see at dinner tonight,” he tells Michael as he steps out. He doesn’t plan on being long but he badly wants a beer, and to drink it on his own.

He rings Balayna’s bell, then bangs his fist on the door when he gets no answer. Finally he calls out to her - and this time she comes to the intercom.

“Gabriel? What are you doing here?”

“Got something to talk to you about.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m not gonna shout it out here for everyone to hear, Balayna.”

The screen goes dark - there’s a pause, then a click and her door slides open. It’s late afternoon now but her blinds are down already, plunging her apartment into an early semi-dark. A hoover-bot is quietly buzzing around the floor in her small living room. Shelves have come off the wall and in a corner sits a box full of broken knick-knacks. 

On the wall behind the shelves, someone has burned a large ‘W’. The same letter appears on the sofa and then the floor. Lorca goes to Balayna’s bedroom - another ‘W’ on the wall behind her bed, and on the ceiling. He returns to the living room, where Balayna is re-arranging cushions to cover the mark on the sofa. She moves in a slow, deliberate way, the way people with broken bodies do. And then when she looks up at him, her hair sways away from her face long enough that he can see the black and blue around her left eye, and her loose top slips off her shoulder and reveals a bandage. He recognises the type - it’s what you put on a burn. Lorca points at it.

“Did he put a letter there, too?” She nods. “What else?”

“Nothing some rest and painkillers can’t cure.”

“Last night you were asking me how to get off this planet, maybe make it to work on the  _ Charon _ . Balayna baby, you wouldn’t last a day out there. What the hell did you think was gonna happen here, huh? Somehow I’d sweep you off into space after one night together? That’s really, really dumb. And now one of my men’s dead because you thought you were something special.”

“Someone is dead? I don’t understand -”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll hear all about it, soon as you step out of your door again.” Balayna has tears in her eyes now. “I’m sorry for what’s happened to you. But I’m even more sorry for what happened to my man. Now here’s some free advice, because I think you’re a nice girl. You don’t know how good you’ve got it here. Don’t go finding out.”

He walks out of her apartment and away from her building. The thought of sitting across from Bao over dinner later enrages him. Maybe he can find a reason to excuse himself from the meal, or convince Georgiou to leave early.

He’s had enough of Paradise.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
